


...As Peas in a Pod

by vandevere



Category: Law & Order, The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-14 13:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5745253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vandevere/pseuds/vandevere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An attorney and a newsman walk into a bar...ouch?  Pre-series "The Newsroom.  "Aftershock" AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In a Bar

Justice had been served today; of that Executive Assistant DA Jack McCoy had no doubt…

Mickey Scott was a rapist and a murderer. If anyone deserved execution, it was he.

So… _why_ , several hours later, was Jack McCoy here, in _this_ bar, telling his life story to a stranger?

Sure, Mike was a real stand up guy, like the family-all those countless Aunts and Uncles-Jack McCoy had grown up with when he was a kid.

There was a blocky steadiness to the guy that put Jack in mind of his Uncle Joe.But Jack McCoy had never been the kind of man to bare his soul to anyone, least of all a man he had only met that afternoon...

Detective Lennie Briscoe was here too, Club Soda in hand, looking at Jack with disapproving eyes.

 _So, I'm drunk_ …McCoy thought savagely.

Drunk…

_Scratch that..._

Jack McCoy was gloriously drunk...Well and thoroughly _plowed._

Briscoe was peering at him disapprovingly over the rim of his tumbler of Club Soda.

_Hell with him…_

"Barkeep! Another scotch, please."

"How many of those have you had already, Counselor?"

"Gee…Detective Briscoe…It never occurred to me to keep count…"

"Uh-huh…" Briscoe sipped his non-alcoholic beverage of choice.

"I think I should see you to a cab," the detective added.

"Claire's on her way," Jack picked up his fresh scotch; and maybe Lennie had a point. There was two of Lennie Briscoe perched on that bar stool now, so either Jack McCoy was _way_ over his limit…

_Or Lennie's a Human Amoeba that's just split two for one…_

McCoy couldn't quite smother the snort of laughter.

"That's it," Lennie growled as he slid the tumbler of scotch out of McCoy's reach.

"When _you_ start giggling like a schoolgirl, Counselor, it's time for you to go home."

"You want to tell me my limits?" McCoy leaned over, tried to put a little more authority into his voice, almost tipped right off the bar stool.

The bar's door opened and closed several times, people coming and going; none of whom were Claire Kincaid.

"To hell with her…" McCoy muttered. He slid off the barstool, only wobbling a little, pointedly ignoring Briscoe's supporting arm.

"Where are you going, Counselor?"

"Home, Detective Briscoe. I'll hail a cab."

"I thought you called Claire Kincaid to come and pick you up," Briscoe protested.

"She's not here," McCoy slipped on his jacket. "And, suddenly, I feel the need to be…elsewhere."

"You called your lady friend to come pick you up, and you're going to leave her in the lurch?"

The new voice, speaking directly behind Jack McCoy, shocked the attorney right down to his toes…

It was _his_ voice, touched with more than a hint of reproof. There was also a hand resting on his left shoulder.

Lennie and Mike…

Both staring at Jack McCoy as if he had sprouted a second head…

McCoy looked at that hand, resting on his shoulder, followed the arm that hand belonged to, right up to the shoulder, saw the man's face…

Jack McCoy's own face, the face he saw every time he looked in a mirror; the eyes-exactly like his own-filled with disapproval.

The same eyes…the same jaw…and the same hawk nose…

"Yeah…" Jack McCoy muttered. "Right…"

Things went dark after that…

* * *

Detective Lennie Briscoe was on the ball tonight. He caught Jack McCoy before the man hit the floor, Mike moving to help. Between the two of them, they got the Counselor moved to the nearest booth, Lennie sliding in next to him to keep him sitting mostly upright. The… _doppelganger_ …slid in next to Mike on the other side of the table, dark, worried, eyes going to McCoy.

Briscoe looked the other man over. He really _did_ look exactly like Jack McCoy

_They could be twins…_

"Lennie Briscoe," he offered a hand.

"Charlie Skinner," the doppelgänger said. Then he looked at McCoy, the unspoken question clear in his eyes.

"This is Jack McCoy," Briscoe nodded at his unconscious companion. "And he's usually in better shape than this. But today was…an unusual day."

_We all saw a man die today; and we were all instrumental in that death…_

Jack McCoy was perhaps a little more instrumental than the others. He had prosecuted Mickey Scott, had sought, and won the death penalty.

And now, here he was, drunk out of his skull, and unconscious.

_Even Hang'em High McCoy has feet of clay. Who would have guessed?_

"Jack McCoy…" Charlie Skinner repeated the name thoughtfully. Then, he looked up, at the front of the bar, dark eyes widening.

"A beautiful woman just entered the bar," he announced. "And she's looking at me like she knows me…"

"And that would be Claire Kincaid," Lennie smiled. "Let me explain things…"

* * *

Claire Kincaid was…irritated.

Jack McCoy had called her, clearly expecting her to drop everything, and come right away…

_Sometimes, I think I hate him…_

There he was, sitting at a booth at the back of the bar, grinning like a loon. Then, he stood and walked over to her.

When he spoke, his words just made no sense.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not who you think I am…"

"Uh..?"

"Over here, Counselor," Lennie Briscoe's voice guided her to the booth. Jack McCoy, slumped against the wall, Lennie Briscoe keeping him upright.

Claire, eyes wide, went from McCoy, to the man who had greeted her, back and forth between the two.

"You've noticed," Lennie was grinning. "That's Charlie Skinner, by the way…"

_Charlie Skinner…_

The man was a complete Jack McCoy clone. The only difference Claire could see was that he parted his hair on the other side…

Charlie Skinner took her hand, shook firmly. Then, he glanced back at McCoy.

"Is he yours'?"

" _Mine?_ " Claire Kincaid floundered. "I…"

This was getting surreal…

"I'd better get him home," she finally sighed. "How drunk is he? He usually handles his liquor better than this."

"Today wasn't a normal day for anyone, Counselor," Lennie shrugged. "Even Jack McCoy isn't immune to… _that_."

_No…Perhaps not…_

With Charlie Skinner's help, Lennie managed to get Jack McCoy safely stowed in the back seat of Claire's car.

Claire sighed again.

_I may as well be charitable…_

"Where are you staying, Mr. Skinner?"

"The Atlantic," Skinner said.

"Hop in. You too, Lennie. If Jack's going to be like this, I'm going to need help getting him into his apartment."

"Thanks…"

Charlie Skinner slid in next to Jack McCoy, who was finally beginning to show signs of life.

"Wha…what…where the hell am I?"

Skinner had bent over, to make sure McCoy's seat belt was secured. McCoy looked up at him.

"Not real…" he muttered. "I'm dreaming…"

"Nope. I'm real. Name's Charlie Skinner."

"You're a drunken delusion. Go _away_ …"

"I'm not a delusion. I'm…talking to you, aren't I?"

Claire laid her head against the steering wheel. Those two voices in the back seat sounded a lot like a drunken man having a conversation with himself…

She wanted to scream.

"Tell you what, Counselor," Lennie's voice to her right. "You kill the one on the left, I'll kill the one on the right, and we'll stuff the bodies in the trunk…"

Kincaid barely smothered the laughter.

"Thanks, Lennie," she started the ignition, and the car began to move.

"What a day this has been," Lennie sighed, and Claire nodded. She looked into the rear view mirror. Jack was out again, Skinner keeping an eye on him. That was when the car behind her surged ahead, passing her at speed, cutting her off, only to be stopped by a red light.

"Sonofabitch!" she slammed on the brakes. There was a growl of protest from the semi-conscious Jack, a _whoa there_ from Charlie, and a very ripe four letter word from Lennie.

"He cut me off!"

"Let him go, Counselor," Lennie advised. "He's not worth it."

The red light turned green, and traffic moved ahead, Claire taking special care to give the car ahead of her some extra leeway.

Then the car ahead of her crossed the intersection.

Only for another car to barrel right into it…

Again, Claire slammed on the brakes, this time in stunned shock.

"I'll deal with this…" Lennie Briscoe undid his seatbelt, got out of the car, and ran over to the wreckage, already dialing 911 on his cell phone.

Claire Kincaid sat there, hands stiff on the steering wheel.

_If he hadn't cut me off…_

_If he hadn't…_

_I would have…_

_I…_

" _Fuck…_ " Claire Kincaid whispered.

* * *

Charlie Skinner stood there, Jack McCoy's body draped unceremoniously over his shoulders.

"Why do _I_ have to carry him?" he complained.

"You broke him, Mr. Skinner," Lennie Briscoe spoke bluntly. "He was ambulatory at least, until he laid eyes on you."

Claire Kincaid, still shaken after their near-miss, got McCoy's apartment door open, and Skinner staggered in looking for something… _anything_...to lay Jack McCoy down upon.

_Even a Dining Room table would do…_

The apartment was a crow's nest, law books stacked everywhere, on chairs, tables, shelves, even the floor.

"Put him on the couch," Clair Kincaid swept a few books off the couch, and Skinner was only too glad to comply.

He watched as Kincaid stripped the unconscious attorney down to tee and boxers.

_His hangover's going to be...vicious..._

"I think I'll see if I can get a cab," Skinner announced.

"Yeah," Briscoe nodded. "I'll split the fare with you."

Charlie Skinner kept silent through the trip back to the Atlantic Hotel.

The shakes only started when he was alone in his hotel room.

It had been dumb luck that Charlie Skinner had chosen _that_ particular bar to stroll into. Any other bar, and he wouldn't have found Jack McCoy.

Skinner had been searching for so long now, almost his entire life.

Was it possible his lifelong search was done?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after...

Head pounding, feeling more than faintly nauseous…

At first, Jack McCoy thought it was one of his semi-regular attacks of migraine.

Then, he remembered the night before.

Some of it, at least…

_I'm not at the bar now…_

Cracking his eyes open cautiously. He was wrapped up in a blanket, stripped down to his skivvies, laid out on the couch of his living room, and he had no idea how he had gotten there.

_I was at the bar counter, with Mike and Lennie…and…someone else..?_

He tried to comb through fragments of memory, and what might have been dreams, and came up empty.

_Must have been toxic drunk…_

That was when the doorbell rang. The sound was an assault on his brain, and he burrowed under the blanket.

_Go away…_

Whoever had come calling wasn't going away; instead, chose to lean on the bell…

"Damn it!" McCoy struggled to his feet, blanket catching his legs, tangling his feet, and he tumbled right off the couch, tangled up in the blanket like a fly in a spider's web…

"Shit!" McCoy managed to lurch back to his feet, the blanket making a graceless toga as he stomped to the door.

He wrenched the door open, ready to vent his rage at whoever was ringing that damned doorbell; only to freeze in mid-curse.

The man, arms full of grocery bags, looked back at Jack McCoy with a face exactly like his own, and McCoy just stood there, ears suddenly buzzing.

"Oh…no you don't…" the man grabbed McCoy's arm, dragged him to the nearest chair and sat him down firmly, kicking the door shut on his way in.

"You are _not_ going to faint again," the man ordered.

"I…fainted?" McCoy had no memory of that.

"In the bar," the man set the grocery bags down on the kitchen counter. "Sorry I made you faint."

McCoy stared at the doppelganger.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Charlie Skinner," the man said.

"Jack McCoy," the attorney rubbed his aching head. "What are you doing in my kitchen?"

Skinner shrugged, setting out eggs, bacon, bread, and butter.

"I'm going to make a good breakfast for you," he said. "You need a good breakfast to ease the hangover you've probably got going right now."

"What I _need_ is to be left alone," Jack McCoy growled. Skinner snorted and ignored him as he rooted around in the small kitchen, getting the bacon in a pan going, cracking eggs into a bowl, setting slices of bread into the toaster.

"I almost forgot…" Skinner held out a glass of water and two aspirin. McCoy took the aspirin, and stood, feeling slightly woozy.

"I'm going to take a shower," he announced. "Will you still be here when I'm done?"

Skinner nodded.

"Gotta make sure you eat…"

_Oh…lord…_

* * *

The coffee was brewed, the eggs and bacon cooked, the toast buttered when Jack McCoy returned, freshly shaved, and clad in jeans and blue button-down shirt.

"Just in time," Skinner set the plate on the table, along with a mug of fresh coffee. Jack McCoy looked at it all dubiously.

"Not sure I can eat," he admitted.

"Sure you can," Skinner took a seat. "You'll feel better if you do."

McCoy rolled his eyes at that, but sat at the table and slowly began to eat.

"Not bad, Mr. Skinner. You're a good cook."

"Thank you, Jack. Do you cook?"

"Not if I want to live," McCoy sighed. "I'm a certified bio hazard in the kitchen."

He took a sip of coffee.

"Making breakfast is all very nice, Mr. Skinner; but _why_ are you here?"

"Looked in a mirror lately?" Skinner chuckled.

McCoy scowled, heavy eyebrows furrowing.

"Don't know what you're talking about…" he grunted; and now it was Skinner who sighed.

"I'm going to tell you a story, Mr. McCoy. It was November, Nineteen-forty, and my parents were visiting friends in Chicago. My Mother was pregnant at the time; twins, her obstetrician had said. She went into labor there, and gave birth to two identical twin boys, at _Sisters of Mercy Hospital_. The date was November the Fifteenth, Nineteen-forty. My brother was stolen out of the hospital the very next day. The police investigation was inept, and my brother was never found."

"You think I'm him?"

" _Look_ in the mirror, Mr. McCoy. The truth is as plain as the noses on both of our faces."

"What do you want from me?"

"A blood test would be nice…"

McCoy choked on his coffee, and Skinner waited while the other man wiped his face with a napkin.

"No…" the other man finally said. "I don't see any reason why I should participate in this…lunacy…"

"Why not?" Skinner demanded. "Do you even know what it feels like to know you had a twin brother, and not even know where he is, or even if he's still alive?"

Suddenly, Skinner was… _furious_.

"My parents told me what happened when I was old enough to understand. When I was a kid, I used to have these fantasies about how I would find my missing twin brother and bring him back home to my parents…"

He sighed.

"They're dead, Mr. McCoy. They never found their missing twin son, and I…when they died, I kind of…gave up myself. I mean…what was the point? Then, I walked into that bar last night, and there…you…were. Why won't you take that blood test? If you're not related to me, you won't lose anything, and if you are related to me, you've gained a brother. What are you afraid of?"

"I'm afraid of strangers demanding I take blood tests!" McCoy snapped. "I don't know you. Why should I trust you?"

"I don't know you either," Skinner nodded. "That's the whole point, isn't it? Either you're my brother, or you're not; and the only way to find out is to take that blood test. Maybe you don't want to know. But, Mr. McCoy, _I_ do!"

"And, if I'm not your brother…" McCoy was glaring at him. "What then?"

"If we're not related…" Skinner bowed his head. "If we're not, I will turn around and walk away. All I ask is that you let us find out…one way or the other. I'll even pay for the blood test."

McCoy sat there, with that unnerving expressionless gaze.

"There's only one person I'd trust for this," he finally said. "But there's one little thing…"

"Okay…" All Skinner felt was gratitude that McCoy was finally agreeing to do this…

"So…what's the problem?" he asked, and McCoy smiled thinly.

"You won't like the venue…"

* * *

Jack McCoy and Charlie Skinner, both in the Morgue…

Dr. Elizabeth Rodgers…her reaction upon seeing the two men together had been... _priceless_ …

She had stood there, eyes wide, finger pointing betwixt McCoy and Skinner, back and forth between the two…

"I need blood work done," McCoy had explained. "For both of us."

Rodgers had pulled herself together.

"Stupid question, I know…" pinching the bridge of her nose. "But, _officially_ , I need to know why."

"Why do you _think?_ " McCoy put down the surge of irritation. The whole thing was rapidly segueing into complete surreality…

So…

Now jack McCoy and Charlie Skinner were sitting on examination tables, Skinner clearly nervous to be sitting on something last used by a corpse…

Blood had been drawn from both men, was now down at the labs for DNA testing. Skinner had left, in search of coffee, with the promise that he would be back _in a few…_

" _Who_ is he, Jack?" Rodgers asked.

"Charlie Skinner," McCoy scratched the side of his head. "I think he's a newsman. We bumped into each other last night, and he thinks I'm his missing twin brother."

"Looking at you, Jack, looking at him," the M.E. drew a breath. "He could be right."

"No…" McCoy shook his head. "My Mother wouldn't do something like that; and my father…"

_My old man was a sonofabitch, but not a stealer of children…_

"How long before the results come in?" he couldn't bring himself to look at her face.

"A few hours, Jack. I could call you-"

"No," McCoy sighed. "I'll wait here."

_It's too important…_

Skinner had returned, with coffee for both of them, and now, they were both waiting, in Dr. Rodgers' office, for…

_The truth,_ McCoy sighed. _Whatever it turns out to be…_

Dr. Rodgers entered her office, folder in her hands.

"The results?" McCoy stood, Skinner following suit.

"Yes," Rodgers opened the file, full of transparent sheets. McCoy knew what they were. He had used DNA results countless times in his trials.

Rodgers handed one transparent sheet to him, and another to Skinner.

McCoy looked at his sheet, tried to understand what all those squiggles and shadings meant.

"Here…" she took his sheet.

"This is your DNA, Jack," she laid it on her desk. Then, she took Skinner's sheet.

"This is Charlie Skinner's DNA," she laid it on top of McCoy's DNA readout, and the two DNA readouts merged perfectly.

"The results make it official," Rodgers said. "Jack…Charlie Skinner and you are monozygotic twin brothers; otherwise known as Identical Twins."

Jack McCoy looked at the sheets thus arrayed on Rodger's desk; and all he felt was numb shock.

_My Mother is not my Mother…My Father is not my Father…_

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry…" Skinner said, and it looked like he really meant it, was really sorry he had upended McCoy's life like this.

"Nothing to be sorry about," McCoy shrugged the hand off, and began to walk away.

The truth was the truth, after all…

"Where are you going, Mr. McCoy?"

"Back to my office, Mr. Skinner," McCoy didn't look back. "You're more than welcome to accompany me. I'm going to find out who did this to… us."

"How?"

"I'm the Executive Assistant DA for the District of Manhattan, Mr. Skinner, and crime is my business…"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack McCoy goes to Chicago to find answers...

_1 Hogan Place_

Adam Schiff was feeling completely and utterly out of his depth…

Jack McCoy, in his office, accompanied by…Charlie Skinner. The two men looked completely identical, and it was only Schiff's years of exposure to McCoy's quirks that allowed him to tell the two apart.

"All these years we've worked together," Schiff finally found his voice. "You never told me you had a twin brother."

"I never knew I had a twin brother!" McCoy exploded.

Schiff brought his gaze over to the other man…Charlie Skinner.

_If they wore the same clothes and combed their hair the same way, no one would be able to tell them apart…_

"I need to take some personal time," McCoy sighed. "I need to visit my…family in Chicago. They might know something about what happened."

"Not sure I follow what you mean, Jack."

McCoy started pacing, seemingly embarrassed over the whole thing.

"We weren't separated at birth and adopted out. It seems that _I_ was stolen at birth. My Aunt Rose, you met her once, when I made ADA…she might know something about what happened."

"You were stolen from your original family?" Schiff's eyes went wide. "My god…"

That was when Skinner put the brief-case he had been carrying on Schiff's desk, opened it, and brought out an old, and yellowed, newspaper. Schiff looked at the paper's date.

_November 16, 1940_

The new article detailed the kidnapping of a newborn infant, out of a major Chicago Hospital only the day before.

_Twin boys born to a Mr. and Mrs. David Skinner, and one of the boys immediately disappears right out of the nursery. This kind of thing only ever happens in soap operas…_

Schiff looked at Jack McCoy, and then at Charlie Skinner. Even without blood tests, the observable evidence was pretty conclusive; only Identical twins looked that much alike.

"I assume you both had blood work done," Schiff put the paper down. "Even if only to confirm the obvious…"

"We did," McCoy nodded. "And we _are…_ "

Again the attorney sighed.

"I need to go to Chicago," he said. "Someone has to know what happened."

"All these years later, Jack? It's been over fifty years. Who are you going to try to bring to justice?"

"I just want to know the truth, Adam."

McCoy turned to leave, Skinner moving to follow, but McCoy's sharp glare stopped him. Charlie Skinner was left standing in Adam Schiff's office.

"Why don't you sit, Mr. Skinner," Schiff suggested. "I'll get us some coffee, and we can get to know each other…"

Skinner sat, looking despondent.

"I didn't think he would take this so badly…" he ran his hands through his hair.

"That's Jack McCoy for you," Schiff sighed. "He comes with some very set beliefs and values, and he doesn't take very well to the carpet getting yanked right out from under his feet. But, he'll be fine. For now, tell me about yourself…"

* * *

Jack McCoy entered his office. Claire Kincaid wasn't there, which was just as well.

He needed to make a very private long-distance call to a Chicago retirement community.

The phone rang a few times, was picked up.

"Rose Kinsella speaking…"

"Aunt Rose?"

"Jack! My dear boy! How are you?"

"I'm…fine, Aunt Rose. I was planning to come down for a visit tomorrow, if that's not too little advance notice."

"There's no fuss, dear boy. Come down for a visit, and we'll talk like we used to when you were a wee lad…"

"Thank you, Aunt Rose…" McCoy closed his eyes, fought the sadness down. "I'll see you then."

They hung up, and he sighed again as he dialed his boss's number.

"Adam Schiff speaking."

"Adam, it's me. I need to take the next few days off. I'm going back to Chicago."

"You all right, Jack?"

"I will be, once I get some answers."

McCoy put the phone down, stared fixedly at his desk. The chances of finding any answers were virtually slim to none.

But, he had to try, even if only for his own satisfaction.

* * *

_St. Joseph Village, Chicago, Ill_

Jack McCoy parked his Yamaha in Visitors Parking, stowed his helmet, and walked to the neat row of apartment buildings. Aunt Rose had apparently been waiting for him, opened the door before he could knock, enfolding him in a warm embrace.

"Jack! My dear boy!"

"Aunt Rose," McCoy looked at her, his mother's youngest sister; she had been sixteen years old and a Candy Striper when Jack was born.

_Maybe she knows what happened..._

McCoy followed her into her small apartment. The tea was already out and ready to be poured.

Sitting where she directed, accepting a cup of tea and a scone.

"Something's bothering you, lad," Rose finally said. "So…out with it."

McCoy bowed his head, collected his thoughts.

"I bumped into a man a few days ago," he said. "He looked exactly like me. We talked, and apparently he had been born in Chicago, same exact birthday as me. He had been born in Chicago, and also had a twin brother, one who was snatched out of the hospital when he was born…"

He trailed off uncertainly, the look of appalled fear in Rose's eyes telling him everything he needed to know…

"Aunt Rose?" he reached out and touched her hand.

"Dear boy…" she sighed. "I'm so sorry!"

"What happened?" McCoy demanded. "I need to know-"

"Of course you need to know, Jack!" Rose sighed again, seemed to come to a decision.

"It was a bad time…" she finally said. "Your mother was pregnant, for the very first time, and John…"

She snorted in disgust.

"Heaven forbid that he should pay any attention to… _women's business_. It was Mary's final Trimester, and the baby was due to arrive any time, so where's John? Off with the boys on a fishing vacation."

"Dad was a jerk, Aunt Rose," McCoy reminded her. "You all knew that."

"He was a wife-beating sonofabitch!" Rose snapped. "But he was away with his friends, so we could rest easy; or so we thought…"

"What happened?" dread filled McCoy.

"Her water broke. Right in the kitchen," Rose's eyes were grim, looking back at old memories. "She gave birth in that kitchen with only me and Maud-you remember her?-to help, and the boy, when he came out…"

She closed her eyes.

"He came out blue, and still. Dead right out of the womb."

_My father's First Born was a still born son…_

"Your mother was unconscious, but Maud said she would pull through."

Rose Kinsella was still talking.

"But we had a problem. Johnny had been talking big- _really big,_ -about the kind of son he was going to have. It would have been bad enough if Little Jack had been born a healthy girl, but John would've adapted to that."

She sighed again.

"But a deformed, and still born son would have been worse, and he would've blamed Mary. In your heart, you know that's true."

"Yes," McCoy nodded. Every time life disappointed John McCoy Senior, it was always his wife's fault, and John had always been…physical…in his anger.

"So…someone stole me out of the hospital…"

"Maud…" Rose nodded. "She appeared with this beautiful little newborn boy the very next day. She worked at the hospital, you see. But she told me you were an abandoned baby she had found at St. Joseph's, and it never occurred to me to think otherwise."

"My mother…"

"She never knew," Rose assured McCoy. "She woke up the day after the birth, just in time for Maud to put you in her arms. I'm sorry my boy…"

McCoy stared ahead, not really sure how to proceed now. Maud Kepler had died in Nineteen Seventy Six, mourned by everyone who had known her.

But she had stolen a child from its parents, and given that child to another set of parents.

A thought occurred to him.

"Was he buried?" he asked Rose. "The baby?"

"Of course he was!" Rose drew herself up. "Maud and I buried the poor little thing at Lincoln Park at night. Little Jack was buried in a wooden box, wrapped up in a blanket, and Maud and I said our prayers over the grave, as proper a burial as we could make it with no priest and all. But God loves the innocent, so I know he went to a better place."

McCoy sighed.

_I don't know what to do…_

Then, he knew…

"The boy needs to be buried in a proper cemetery," he took Rose's hand. "Do you remember where you buried him?"

* * *

Claire Kincaid had been startled awake by the phone. She might have ignored it, trusting it to go to voicemail that she could check in the morning. But something told her that would be a mistake. So, she sat up and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Claire…" It was Jack McCoy. He didn't sound drunk...but he didn't sound precisely sober either.

He sounded…upset.

"Are you all right?"

There was a helpless sounding laugh from the other end.

"I've just found out I'm not the real McCoy…"

"Jack…"

"I know…not funny. But true nonetheless. I even know where the body is buried."

_"Body?"_

"Yeah…they buried him, little casket, and blanket, and prayers for his soul…"

"Where are you?"

"At my hotel room now. Tomorrow, I'm going to be at Lincoln Park, exhuming a grave."

"It's a _park_ , Jack. Parks don't have graves."

"This one does…"

Jack hung up, and Claire sat there, staring at the phone in her hand.

"Damn…" she dialed Adam Schiff's number.

* * *

Adam Schiff arrived in Chicago the very next morning, with Charlie Skinner and Dr. Elizabeth Rodgers in tow. All three were exhausted from catching the Red-eye flight to Chicago.

Claire Kincaid had called him the evening before, sounding worried sick.

_Now, I'm worried sick…_

He had already called the hotel Jack McCoy was staying at. Jack hadn't picked up.

So, now the taxi was taking the trio to Lincoln Park.

_Where a body may be buried…_

Schiff didn't even want to think about what this might be doing to Jack McCoy.

Police cruisers were in evidence at Lincoln Park, and Schiff could see men working at a specific site, digging away with shovels.

Jack McCoy was there too, hands in the pockets of his shabby green jacket, back to the approaching newcomers.

"Hey…" one of the men with shovels said. "Got something here…"

Schiff laid a hand on McCoy's shoulder.

"You okay?" he asked the younger man.

"Yeah…" McCoy watched, with haunted eyes, as the men began to dig something out of the dirt. It looked like a small wooden box.

_Just large enough to hold the body of a newborn infant…_

Schiff and McCoy watched the men work.

Finally, the wooden box came free from the soil, and a man carried it over to Jack McCoy.

He accepted the box, carried it to a nearby work table.

Schiff saw the reluctance in McCoy. He didn't want to open it, didn't want to see whatever lay inside…

Sighing, the man bowed his head, then opened the lid.

Schiff came up beside him, looked down.

Bones…pitiably fragile-looking…wrapped in a small blanket.

"Liz…" Schiff beckoned Dr. Rodgers over.

"May I?" she looked to Jack McCoy.

McCoy nodded wearily, then stepped back to let her work.

She worked quietly, putting gloves on first, then gently handling the tiny skeleton.

But even Adam Schiff could see the deformed little skull, and ribcage.

_This little one didn't have a chance for survival…_

Besides, the baby was dead, had been dead for a long while. Jack was his worry now.

The man stood there, dark eyes fixed on the sight, trauma in his eyes.

"Who am I?" Jack McCoy whispered.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack McCoy and Charlie Skinner deal with the truth...

Adam Schiff was worried about his old friend, really worried.

_Who am I?_

Jack McCoy had said that, looking down at the bones of an infant boy buried over fifty years ago.

It had been late morning then. Now, it was early afternoon, and McCoy had said nothing since that morning.

Right now, McCoy was sitting in the Chicago ME's office, along with Adam Schiff and Charlie Skinner, watching as Dr. Elizabeth Rodgers, working in concert with the local ME, worked on the fifty-year-old remains.

_A deformed, stillborn baby boy…_

Charlie Skinner looked hardly less miserable than Jack McCoy; although, in Skinner's case, it was most certainly from a feeling of guilt.

_As if all of this is his fault…_

Well… 

From a certain point of view, it _was_ his fault. Charlie Skinner had barged into Jack McCoy's life with claims of biological brotherhood, claims proven by a simple blood test.

But Adam couldn't find it in his soul to blame Charlie.

_If I had a missing twin brother, I'd move heaven, earth, and hell, to find him…_

So, in the end, it wasn't really Skinner's fault at all.

_It's the fault of whoever stole a baby boy from a Chicago hospital, splitting up a pair of twins who should have grown up together…_

Adam sighed. Now he had to find a way to help Jack McCoy through this, and maybe help Charlie Skinner too.

Rose Kinsella, Jack's Aunt, had arrived at the ME's office, to give a statement on the stillbirth, and the clandestine burial.

She had identified Maud Kepler as the main actor in the kidnapping, and Jack McCoy seemed content to let it go at that, although Adam was far from certain that _he_ wanted to drop it.

Rose Kinsella had to have known more than what she had told Jack…

But, after over fifty years, the legalities of the situation were far from clear. Skinner's parents had died years ago; and Jack and Charlie were both over fifty.

_Prosecuting Rose Kinsella would do no good; and only serve to wound Jack further._

No…there would be no arrest and prosecution. Something else was required here…

Something to help heal two men who had been robbed of each other.

Twins…

The literature on twins-scientific and medical-suggested very strongly that the bonds between twin siblings-even the non-identical, fraternal kind of twin-were the strongest of all bonds.

_How much closer must it be for Identical twins?_

"I'm going to get a coffee," Charlie Skinner suddenly said. "You guys want any?"

"A brilliant idea," Schiff agreed. "Jack and I both take ours light and sweet…"

"Take your time, Charlie," he lowered his voice to a whisper for Charlie's ears alone. "I'll talk to Jack…"

Skinner nodded, uncertainly, looking at Jack McCoy, who still sat there, staring fixedly, at the sight of Dr. Rodgers working over the skeleton of a long dead baby boy.

"I'll be back in a bit," Skinner said.

Schiff sat next to McCoy after Skinner was gone.

"How are you feeling, Jack?"

"Am I?" McCoy turned his head, focusing on Schiff.

"Are you…what?"

" _Am_ I Jack McCoy?" the younger man looked down, hands clasped together. "Do I still have the right to call myself that?"

_Oh…Jack…_

Schiff sighed, laid a hand on McCoy's arm.

"You've lived your whole life as John James McCoy. You were baptized under that name, took your first Communion under that name, entered Legal Wedlock under that name, and pursued a career under that name. It's who you _are_ , and no one has the right to take that from you."

"What about Charlie Skinner?"

"Charlie…" Schiff sighed again. "He feels just as miserable as you now; and this is a day that should be the most joyful day in his life. He finally found his missing twin brother, someone he'd been looking for his entire adult life. I don't think he cares what name you use. He just wants to know his brother."

* * *

Charlie Skinner returned with three coffees, to find Jack McCoy in a slightly better frame of mind.

Still, Charlie approached him cautiously, holding out a large coffee-Light and Sweet-and it felt like a Peace Offering.

"Thanks," McCoy accepted the coffee, peered at Skinner over the rim of the paper cup.

"I owe you an apology," the attorney added.

"Uh?"

"I've been treating you like shit, like it was all your fault," McCoy looked ashamed. "I'm sorry."

Skinner shrugged, feeling oddly shy.

"No problem…Jack. I didn't mean to put you through the wringer over it. I just wanted to find my brother."

He sighed.

"I just forgot to consider all of the implications; that I'd be uprooting you from the life you had known. That was the _last_ thing I wanted to do to you."

McCoy nodded.

"I'm…fine now. How about you?"

"Me?" Skinner stammered. "I…uh…"

It had all been so unexpected…

Skinner had been in Manhattan on business; a newsman at loose ends, and a failed job opportunity.

Disgusted at the way his luck had turned lately, he had gone out for a walk in Manhattan's streets, and it had only been random luck that led him to choose that bar on a whim.

So…how was Charlie Skinner feeling?

_Shattered._

Finding his long-missing twin brother should have been the most gloriously joyful day of his life.

Instead, he wanted to curl up in a hole somewhere and weep.

_Why couldn't this have happened back when my... **our**... parents were still alive?_

"I'd been waiting… _hoping_ …for so long now, Jack. The reality…actually _finding_ you…that's going to take some getting used to. I'm not used to having a brother…someone that I can actually talk to."

"Well…" Jack McCoy shrugged. "For better or worse, you found me. I'm here. So, what do we do about this?"

"Guess we deal…" Skinner replied. "So…will you tell me about yourself? Let me get to know you…"


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few months later...

_"No! I'm not going to do that! I don't care how much you beg and plead, I'm not going to jump out of an airplane!"_

_"Aw…C'mon…It'll put hair on your chest!"_

_"I'm quite satisfied with the chest hair I currently have."_

_"What are you afraid of, Jack?"_

_"Let's see…thirty thousand foot drop, and a parachute that might malfunction?"_

_"Wuss…"_

_**"What?"** _

_"W-U-S-S…Wuss."_

_"I am not a wuss. I just don't like the idea of jumping out of a plane."_

_"Wuss…"_

_"Grrr…"_

_"Come on, Jack. You'll have a blast…"_

_"If I don't get killed…"_

_"Wuss…"_

_"Shut up…"_

* * *

_What am I doing here?_

John James McCoy, stuck up in an airplane, wearing parachute, and all the other paraphernalia associated with people crazy enough to jump out of airplanes, was very nearly scared witless.

The last few months had been…interesting, to say the least.

Charlie had met Jack's daughter, Rebecca, her husband, and their little boy; and Jack had met Charlie's wife and their kids too; and now Jack McCoy had far more family than he originally thought he did..

But Charlie had been insistent about the two of them jumping out of that goddam plane.

 _A bonding experience,_ he had called it.

_Bonding experience, my ass…_

There Jack McCoy was, standing just inside the open door of the plane, the ground so far below…

His heart was practically trying to claw its way out of his ears.

"Ready, Jack?" Charlie Skinner's voice sounded through the intercom in his helmet.

"Uh…maybe I can sit this one out and watch you?"

"What are you, Jack? A man or a mouse?"

McCoy looked out the door, and the ground, _way down there_ …

"Ah…squeak?"

He felt Charlie put his arms around him.

"We're going out together," he said firmly. "Like we did in the practice sessions. Trust me. I won't let go of you. We jump on three."

"One…"

_Oh…Lord…_

"Two…"

_We who are about to die…_

"Three!"

And suddenly, they were airborne…

Jack was aware of Charlie's hand tightly gripping his hand, and he dared to look down through the goggles he was wearing…

It felt like flight, the ground down below, the wind streaming all around, the blue sky his entire world…

"Deploy chutes on three!" Skinner's voice was crisp, the voice of a man who had been a Marine…

_One…_

_Two…_

_Three!_

Jack McCoy's fears proved to be unfounded; the chutes deployed flawlessly. He lost Charlie Skinner's hand as the chute jerked him up and away. But McCoy didn't notice this time…

He hung there, caught betwixt earth and sky, floating downward like a human snowflake; and it really did feel like he was flying...

The descent was gentle, the ground passing by under his dangling feet, and it felt so peaceful way up here; almost… _spiritual._

The actual landing, though, was undignified.

McCoy landed on his ass, thankfully on even ground, and was dragged backwards quite a few yards, the process ending when yards of canvas came down upon him, like a gigantic blanket.

He heard laughter through his helmet intercom.

"Very funny," he growled. "Will you please help me get free of this mess?"

"Of course," Skinner's voice chuckled in his ear. "But first, I'm gonna snap a photo for posterity."

* * *

Skinner snapped that photo as quickly as he could, looking at that man-shaped lump under all those yards of canvas, struggling to fight its way out.

Then, photo taken, he stepped in and helped extricate his new found brother from the tangled mess.

McCoy was breathing hard when he took off his helmet, eyes stunned as he looked up at the sky.

"Incredible, huh?" Skinner chuckled. "It's about as close to flying like Superman as we're ever likely to get."

McCoy nodded absently, still staring upward.

"Come on," Skinner patted his shoulder. "I think we've earned a drink."

"Yeah…" McCoy took a deep breath, still looking up at the very blue sky. "Think we have, at that."

The two men stopped to bag up the parachutes, under Charlie Skinner's expert guidance, then headed off to civilization, and the nearest pub…


End file.
